"You didn"t know father then."
"No; and for a long time after that I hated women."
"Until you met my mother?" asked the boy.
"Yes; and until I knew Grigosie."
"Grigosie? Who was Grigosie?"
"She was a Princess."
"My mother is a Princess. Father says so."
"And some day, when you are old enough, he will tell you all about Grigosie, too, and how it is you are not a king."
"Mother sometimes calls me her little king," said the boy.
"I don"t wonder. Now it"s time to mount and charge home."
So the little warrior is quickly lifted on Stefan"s shoulder, and with waving wooden sword, and with curls flying, is whirled off on his willing charger.